


Someone who, like it or not, will want you to share

by Handfulofdust



Series: Being Alive [3]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M, Marriage Proposal, Morning After, Moving In Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 06:57:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17259644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Handfulofdust/pseuds/Handfulofdust
Summary: “This is supposed to be the hard part. This is supposed to be the growing pains. Instead it's simple and easy and Noah is taking to it like water.”Or a series of vignettes after happily ever after





	Someone who, like it or not, will want you to share

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know what this is but I'm posting anyway so...

  
When she wakes up, somewhat achy and impossibly comfortable, she almost panics. She has no phone or purse and her panties are somewhere halfway across the room.

Rafael is not here.

There's no note or anything. He probably texted her on the phone that's in some false wall hall closet. 

She sighs, finding her bra and slipping the dress back on. 

Her underwear are up against the closet door. Apparently when you throw things they land all sorts of places. She pulls them on, remembering her shoes are in the living room. 

Dumbass, she thinks. The years of dancing around this, of planning how she could possibly tell him and imagining what he’d say. The months of waiting for this part, and she’d never thought about the logistics of the morning after. She’d never truly allowed herself to hope it would get that far. At least, not this fast.

So, she squares her shoulders, and opens the door. Bare feet pad on what she’s just now noticing is a hardwood floor. It isn’t until she’s at the couch that she hears the humming. It isn’t until she’s got one shoe on that she notices the smell. And it’s only after she places the other one over her foot that she realizes he’s making breakfast.

Of course he didn’t dart off to work without at least telling her. Its honestly never occurred to her that he would cook his own food. He’s always been an on the go, food trucks and fine dining type of person, but that’s just the side she chose to see.

How is this supposed to go? Hi good morning. How are you? Where’s my phone? 

“Were you just going to let me sleep all morning,” she settles on asking as she edges toward the counter separating the kitchen from the rest of the open area. 

He stops humming, puts the spatula he’s using down against the skillet, but doesn’t turn. “It’s 5 am…”

She doesn’t know when he gets to work but she’s usually up by now, to get herself started with a shower and some breakfast before she has to wrangle Noah and be into the precinct. Whatever he’s making smells nice. She wants to ask him what it is. 

“Do you remember where I put my phone?” is what she asks instead. 

“Probably in your purse or your coat, which are in the hall closet.”   


She’s not going to let him offer to get it for her. She’s a grown woman and she can get these things herself. Plus, he’ll insist on slipping the coat over her shoulders and she’s not sure she can handle that at the moment.

She opens the closet. The phone is, in fact, in her purse. She grabs the coat as well and clicks through it. 

There is only one notification. A text from Ben with a picture of Noah watching Moana. It’s as she’s texting him back that she realizes how unusual that is. No frantic texts from Carisi or Rollins. No missed calls from Dodds. It's quiet. Disturbingly quiet.

She’s walking back down the hall and slipping on her coat when she hears an “Oh,” from the kitchen. 

When she looks up and over at him he isn't doing a great job of hiding his disappointment. In fact, he kind of looks like he didn’t get the Christmas present he wanted, but is trying to be graceful. 

“Right,” he nods, “You need to get Noah.”

“Well, no,” she laughs, remembering how Ben had more confidence in everything than they did, “Your perfect best friend has already covered getting him to school. But I do need to take a shower and get changed.”

He considers this, and nods, again. He’s not happy about something she’s doing. “Okay,” he shrugs. 

She doesn’t want to play this game. It’s early, and everything was going so well and why is he suddenly unhappy? 

“You're mad.”

“No,” he defends. Maybe he isn’t mad but he wanted something, or she didn’t do something. She wishes he’d just -- tell her what he’s thinking. She can read him pretty well but she doesn’t know his mind completely. That should be obvious by now.

“Rafa-” she tests. 

“I had an idea,” he shrugs, again. “It was silly.”

Then it hits her. The comment about how early it is, the making of the breakfast, the disappointment at the coat. What a dumb, sweet, lovable man he is. 

She can’t help the smile any more. “You were going to let me eat in that giant fancy bed of yours?”

He rolls his eyes, manages to look sheepish. “Let's not go that far - but I was kind of hoping you'd want to eat here. It’s just eggs and I know you have a schedule, but -” 

She tries not to laugh at the arguments. All he ever had to do was ask. He knows that right? 

“Eggs sound nice, but we need coffee,” she interrupts, tossing the coat behind her on the couch. “I'll start some.”

“You're staying?” 

The look on his face. Full of disbelief and a happiness she is almost terrified to name it almost breaks her heart. 

Because she really didn't see him for awhile. Because she got so used to that face she was too pissed to lose it to think about what it really meant. And if not for Ben and Manny and Dr. Wu and his team of talented surgeons she'd have missed him entirely. 

He doesn't love anyone else. He never did. And for some reason that ego of his doesn't extend to her. 

So it's time to show him, right? 

She smiles back and walks over to him. Places a hand under his chin and pulls him forward, kissing him sweetly, “you're quite persuasive.”

Between the meal and the shower and the fun they have after she barely makes it to work on time. 

* * *

She manages to avoid prying questions about the date everyone surely knows about. They're very busy. Carisi is preoccupied. Amanda is pregnant. Fin has never cared about her personal life. And because Carisi is preoccupied with his personal life, it’s time to do the thing she promised Rafa she would.

She really doesn’t want to get involved in this, but he’s right. It isn’t that there’s impropriety, it’s the appearance of impropriety. When she took the Lieutenant’s exam she never thought about this part. She’s happy to mentor and improve and train. She doesn’t enjoy when it abuts personal problems.

So she calls Sonny into her office. He seems bright eyed, yet tired, but ready to keep up with their cases. Eager to interview new witnesses. It’s when she shuts the door that his face drops like he’s in trouble. 

“Lieu,” he whines, “I already got the smackdown about the fragrances from Rollins. She said I smell like a department store and it was makin’ her yak.”

_ Fragrances?  _ He has rather smelled like the inside of Bloomingdale’s lately, but that isn’t what she’s wanting to talk to him about. Well, that’s a symptom of the problem.

“Carisi, I don’t care about your cologne,” she sighs, sitting down behind her desk, “I just - you and ADA Charles, if there's something going on there -”

This is so hypocritical and he should very much be calling her on it, but it’s necessary.

“Oh,” he shakes his head, body language loosening, “she ain't interested.”

Interest isn’t the issue. 

“But you are.”

It’s a credit to him that he doesn’t try to deny it. Though at this point that would be denying the moon. 

“You're makin’ it sound all tawdry,” he looks at her, almost through her. “Keesh is just a friend and there’s nothing goin’ on.”

Calling her Keesh is the problem. 

“Okay,” she nods, “but if something does happen - ”   


“Then I’ll fill out one of those slips,” he rolls his eyes. Even though he’s never had this lecture from her before, he knows the drill. It’s much easier to think of in the hypothetical than the practical. “But it won’t. Can I go back to work?”

She needs to push this a little further, to tell him he needs to be a little more circumspect. He’s a good detective. This case is too important to get suspended over. He’s too good an investigator to lose him over a crush. 

“Carisi, I know you don’t want to hear any of this, but I have to -”

“Tell me I need to stop bein’ so obvious about how I feel about Keesh ‘cause it’s gonna ruin her case and the job is more important than that?” he supplies, almost shocking her. “Don’t look so surprised I got a brain Lieu. I did the math all on my own. She doesn’t like me like that anyway. Don’t worry about it.” 

She wants to tell him how she used to think that way about Rafa. That even if he was interested he wasn’t going to do anything about it. If he had done anything about it they would have ruined half their caseload. 

She wants to let him know all of that thinking was wrong, and that she wishes it didn’t take Rafa almost dying to figure that out. Almost being the operative word. 

But she can’t. She’s his boss. She can’t pry and ask how he’s come to this sort of conclusion. Besides, he’s mostly correct for the time being. It just stinks. You should be able to fall in love with a person as passionate as you and not have it be a professional complication, but life has other plans. You should only ever fall in love with those who love you back, but if life were fair no one would need money.

She’s also not entirely sure he’s correct in his insistence ADA Charles does not reciprocate his feelings, but it’s also possible she’s projecting. The look on Carisi’s face indicates he’d rather talk about anything else. As if his heart’s been broken a little bit. 

Hell maybe it has, but it’s really not her business if he isn’t doing anything. Comforting him won’t do any good. It would also unprofessional to do so, but the last time she truly cared about that was when she was in The Academy. 

So, she resolves to change the subject. 

“As long as you know what you’re doing,” she sighs, “By the way, Rafa says I should talk to you about this podcast you like. The one where they started all the hashtags about him.”

His mood shifts almost immediately, proverbial ears perking up like some sort of puppy. 

“You think it's evidence?” He asks excitedly. 

“No,” she furrows a brow, “I just wanted to give him a hard time about it and was curious.” 

“Oh,” he considers, smiling, “Well they like you, too.”

If she’s read the comments she’s found correctly, the denizens of the #BarbasBabes subgroup would not enjoy her at all. In fact, if Deputy Chief Gray hadn’t confirmed to her personally that they had found the communiques from Grant to the man who stabbed Rafa, she’d suspect the whole ordeal started as some sort of stalker situation. 

Though there’s a reason you’re not supposed investigate the attempted murder of the man you’re in love with. You cannot remain objective about the legions of adoring young girls who actively discuss his ridiculous sartorial choices on Twitter. They would have adored the Barney get up unironically. 

It’s possible she kind of enjoyed the Barney get up, but only ironically. 

“They won’t after they find out I pulled myself off the Grant case so I could date their boyfriend,” she rolls her eyes, looking at the mountain of paperwork in front of her. 

She still has to fill out one of those slips herself, and reassign the Grant case to Fin, but she’s getting to it. Hypocrisy at it’s laziest really. 

Carisi doesn’t even react to the news of the date nor that she’s pulling herself off the case.  

“Naw,” he laughs, “The one girl, Gina, she ships it.”   


“Ships it?” she asks, “Like a boat?” 

“Man you really gotta get on the Internet Lieu,” He continues laughing as he gets up from the chair. “I’ll send you some episodes where they talk about you guys.”

She’s worried shipping means something else entirely, but she’s just intrigued enough to wait for Carisi’s episodes. She’s not excited about it, exactly, but she’s definitely curious.

She asks Fin to take point on the Grant case. He isn't remotely surprised by this news either. She sends an email to Dodds. It takes him two days to get mad about it. By that point she’s knee deep in the new case the certain Pulitzer winning journalist had broken and he's much more concerned about that. The attention span of a goldfish and more concern about his publicity than anything else.

* * *

As if Carisi had already made a playlist of greatest hits, he sends her an email with a link to several of his “favorite” episodes of Murder Most Fowl. So she can get a feel of the style, he says. He also tells her to let him know if she needs help finding more.

She has no plans to listen actively, really, and if anything their coverage of several cases leaves a lot to be desired. Giggling over a serial killer’s potential choice of dress for his mannequins, for instance, is not funny. She should hate it. Rafa would definitely hate all of it. 

But she finds herself listening to the entire first episode, and then playing another. The girls have a certain amount of charm. They inject everything with just the right amount of humor to make it palatable. If she’s being honest with herself, she’d probably listen to the whole playlist. But they’re busy and she really can’t focus when she’s giggling along with them. 

It’s later that week, with Noah in bed and Rafa at a conference upstate, that she gets to the first episode where they talk about Barba.

“Okay do you remember that 25 Acts book and how it came out that the author wasn't actually the author?”

“Oh yeah! Wasn't that how that Jon Stewart guy went to jail.”

“No! It was that late night guy Cain or whatever.”

“Herman Cain went to jail?”

“No,” the other girl laughs, “the Raising Cain guy.”

It’s this kind of wild speculation combined with being increasingly ill-informed that should be annoying. Thing is, they never pretend to know what they’re talking about. Plus, sometimes it’s nice to get someone’s perspective who doesn’t deal with this every day.

“That fucking piece of work,” the other one exclaims, “didn't he like assault the same poor girl twice and make fun of her on the air?”

She’s not entirely wrong. 

“I'm getting to it. And he's definitely not Jon Stewart!”

“We’re sorry Jon Stewart. Have fun on your goat farm.”

“Imagine Jon Stewart listening to this and being so offended”

“Whatever he gets it.”

They then discuss the particulars of Jocelyn Paley v. Adam Cain. Including the large scandal in the DA’s office that had led Barba their way. Gina or Kara (she can’t tell the difference between them) expresses amusement over his ambition, saying “Oh look at this on-fire garbage can, I think that’s where I’ll build my house.” Six years was so long ago. Who would have thought then that she’d end up falling in love with him?

There are details her memory has glossed over and things she doesn’t think exactly happened the way they’re saying, but they aren’t the same people now. 

Then again, it’s possible Rafa would still pull the belt trick if he needed to. 

“Wait,” the one with a slightly deeper voice interjects, “He actually tied his belt around his neck and taunted a sadist to make a point?”

If she hadn’t seen it with her own two eyes she wouldn’t believe it either. 

“Yep.”   


“That’s so stupid,” she laughs. “I love him.”

She’s beginning to understand why Carisi likes these two. 

* * *

The rest of the week is full of stolen moments and Chinese takeout and pretending like they aren't meaning to fall asleep at each other's places. Even though Noah is growing very comfortable with the guest bed already.

He draws and colors and where did he find crayons? They talk about robots and animated movies. Rafa finds a magnets to post illustrations to his refrigerator. This is supposed to be the hard part. This is supposed to be the growing pains. Instead it's simple and easy and Noah is taking to it like water. 

She's taking to it like water, really. 

Even though Eddie seems to have found a home in Noah's backpack and he seems to have accidentally left a few pajamas in the dresser. 

She has to remember to bring some of her own clothes next time. As it is she's stolen an old Harvard sweatshirt and some shorts she doubts Rafa ever wore.  

“I’m sorry,” she yawns, pulling the sheet over her shoulders as Rafa turns out the light.

“For?” she hears him smirk behind her.

“Crashing here,” she snuggles into the pillow. “Again.”

He's silent for just long enough that she starts to get slightly worried. Maybe this has gone too fast and maybe they need to discuss where they stand. Sure, he loves her. Sure, they've waited for this for forever and it's been really easy to make dreams a reality, but not everyone moves at the same pace.

“Maybe I like it when you crash here.” he admits finally, wrapping his arms around her. He's revealing something big - huge even. She's not in the mood to turn around and discuss it. She doesn't need to. 

“After we have fun together.” she notes, entwining her fingers with the hand he has settled along her stomach. 

“Euphemisms aside,” he murmurs into her hair, “the board game was quite fun.”

Noah had suspiciously won a game of mousetrap after acquiring more pieces than should be logical. 

“You two conspired against me.”

“Objection, assumes facts not in evidence.” 

She'd argue with him about said facts, but his sheets are very comfortable and her eyes are very droopy. 

“For the record,” he whispers in her ear, “you are both free to crash here whenever you want.”

I love you, she thinks. Maybe I should say that more, she thinks. She's asleep before she can verbalize a response.

* * *

Its when she’s actually late to work one day she realizes she has a problem. But how is she reasonably supposed to focus when he offers up his shower so they can spend more time together?

They'd managed another actual date this time. He'd worn a navy blue suit even Drew seemed to notice. Her dress was another black number that hugged all the right places. The look he had given her the entire way through dinner confirmed it was the correct buy. The hypothesis was confirmed when he pulled it off of her minutes after getting home and into the bedroom. 

“Don't you have to get to work?” she moans as his soapy hands cover her breasts.

“Beauty of being the boss,” he groans as she returns the favor between his thighs, “is I can set my own hours.” 

Must be nice. But then again she's the boss too. They can be without her for a few minutes while she shampoos her hair. 

She eyes the multiple bottles lining a shelf. 

“I feel like your hair products are too involved for me.” 

She gasps as he backs her against the wall, making a movement like he's about to kneel. 

“I could help you look through them,” he offers, only moving to kiss her neck and run his thumb over her nipple. ‘Make an educated choice.”

As enjoyable as that sounds, hair products are the least of her concern after she wraps her legs around him. Keshia's latest deposition briefly crosses her mind - but then he caresses her breast and smiles at her and she can't be expected to think about work. She can’t be expected to think much of anything when he looks at her like that.

She’s not sure how she ever got work done with him around. Maybe it was her mind's way of fixing things not to see it. Because if she had taken her chance back then, to tell him how she felt, to feel all the ways he loves her back, she wouldn't have been in a place to recuse herself - to trust her team to handle it without her. 

Too bad because he’s amazing. This is amazing. 

She manages to clean off a bit and slip on the same outfit from last night. It will look fine with a blazer. But when he comes up behind her and kisses the back of her neck its possible she gets a little carried away again. 

When his hand slips and she rips the side of the dress she isn't even mad about it. Maybe they should call off work and spend all day doing this. All weekend like this. 

She could retire and live off her pension. 

She'd definitely retire for him. If he asked.

But he'd never dream of asking. He'd never expect her to make a sacrifice for him. He's been expecting her to put the brakes to everything and she can tell. As if once you'd had a glimpse of heaven you could go back to earth and be satisfied with it.

And that bullshit is one of the many reasons she loves him so much, why she'd be willing to spend the rest of their days squabbling with him. Because her work is just as important as his and he’d never quit fighting. Never truly.

Which is a ridiculous notion to be considering when your.... boyfriend’s hands are in your underwear and yours are scratching the back of his neck.

She never was very good at compartmentalizing. They are good at this though. Very, very good at this. 

So she lets him take his time and he lets her take her time and maybe doing this all day isn't such a bad notion. 

Afterwards, when she's lying across his chest and letting her breath return to normal, that's oddly when she feels the most at peace. 

“We seem to have gotten a bit excited,” he laughs, kissing the top of her head as she snuggles. She feels him tilt his head toward the scrap of fabric they managed to toss across the room. “I'm sorry.”

“I'm not,” she mutters, trying not to ogle just how good he looks this comfortable, “though I definitely don't know what I'm wearing to work.”

“The NYPD really enforces that dress code do they?”

She laughs, but honestly, that tear is not going to be hidden by a blazer. 

“I only have my stuff,” he offers, somewhat dejectedly. She’d wear that Harvard sweatshirt again, but while they aren’t hiding the relationship, she isn’t sure how open he wants to be about it. He’s kind of a public figure at this point - between the appearances and the talks and the conspiracy case that landed a sitting DA in federal prison. 

She does have an outfit in the closet in her office. She’d just have to find something to wear until she gets there. One of his shirts would work, and the pants shouldn’t be too much of an issue. 

“Well we are the same height so I'd just need -” 

She can’t help it. It’s so dumb, but the idea of it is preposterous. The giggle bubbles up over her and before she can stop she’s shaking.

“A what?” he asks, both seeking clarification and wondering what could possibly be so funny.

“A belt,” she manages.

He nods, “common items of clothing really are hilarious Liv.”

“It's nothing just…” she trails off, wiping her eyes, “something the girls on this podcast said.”

“Since when are you listening to podcasts?”

“Carisi set me up with one where they talked about our first case together,” she searches his face for recognition she doesn’t find. “You probably don’t remember.”

How many times has he tried to get himself killed, exactly? Hopefully less than she has.

He moves to sit up, eyeing her with disapproval. 

“You think I don’t remember doing something unbelievably stupid because I wanted to impress a woman I'd pissed off?”

That’s not the entire reason he did it, and they both know it. 

“You didn’t piss me off,” she scoffs.

He’d made her angry and frustrated by giving Jocelyn a hard time and inane comments about taking daughters to work and - well maybe he did piss her off a little. 

“I absolutely pissed you off several times,” he notes at her revisionist history, “and I know because you pissed me off several times.”

She didn’t think that ever really got to him back then. Sure, they had arguments, heated ones even, but she didn’t think he’d cared enough about her opinion until after they became friends. 

“Really?” she breathes.

“Absolutely.” He laughs, rubbing his hand along her lower back, “No one gets under my skin like you and when I'm feeling vulnerable I might admit to you that I love every minute of it.”

She loves every minute of it, too.

“I never realized you’d noticed the belt,” he adds as she lays her head in the crook of his neck.

“Everyone noticed the belt.”   


“I’ll rephrase. I didn’t think you liked the theatrics.”   


“I liked the ridiculous lengths you were willing to go to win a case.”   


“That I believe.”

“I need to go to work,” she sighs, snuggling into his chest and closing her eyes. 

All she hears is a brief groan of agreement before his hands clutch her back and she falls asleep. She has more time and she’s the boss. A nap won't hurt. 

This is the calmest she’s felt in months and it shouldn't have anything to do with his heartbeat. She should be panicking and racing to the precinct. They're busy and she has a deposition to read but this kind of happiness needs to be savored.

When she wakes up there is a mad dash to throw on an outfit, consisting of a pink paisley dress shirt, black slacks she is shocked to find he has, and the all important belt. They give each other such a hard time over it they barely make it out of the apartment. In fact, she barely makes it to work that day. She barely makes it to work all week. 

* * *

She’s distractedly laughing over some group text she’s found herself on when ADA Charles knocks on her door. (Ben is quite fond of “I’m a psychiatrist, not a [insert suitable profession here] jokes and sometimes they’re quite funny.)

She tries not to panic. She’s supposed to be going over some old paperwork in their latest big case, but with all the new victims coming forward she’s lost track. She’d finally convinced Dodds to give her some detectives on loaner from The Bronx to help out, but what she really needs is more than two permanent investigators. 

She sighs, motioning for Keshia to come into her office. 

She sits down primly, placing her briefcase in front of her navy blue one inch heels. Stylish, but practical. Dogged, but cordial. Smart as a whip, but deferential. That’s Ms Charles in a nutshell. No wonder everyone is so taken with her. 

“I'm sorry,” she notes the mountain of paperwork still gathering dust on her desk. “I didn't get a chance to finish the deposition.”

“Oh,” she frowns. That isn’t what she came to ask about. “That's fine,” she smiles, “I'm kind of tilting at windmills with that one to tell you the truth. I actually came here about something a little more personal.”

Keshia’s personal life is a closely guarded secret. One she’s never thought to unpack, except for whatever it has to do with her detective. 

“Ask away,” she smiles. 

“Your -” Keshia stumbles. She’s never seen her stumble. Not once. Not even in the face of unruly defendants and bigoted judges and uncooperative witnesses. This was bad. “You don't think Sonny is mad at me, do you?”  

She’s really gone and done it now. She could be honest, but then she’d have to admit to meddling, and this is why you leave people’s personal lives alone. 

“I-” she gapes, trying to find the words. 

“No, you're right,” ADA Charles nods at whatever she thought was said. “I should ask him myself. I just thought you might have an idea.”

“Why,” she swallows, “do you think he's mad at you?”

“He’s been very standoffish and kind of sad lately. I can force him to talk about it but he doesn’t seem to want to talk to me all of a sudden.”

This is definitely her doing. Keshia is smart enough to know the score, so she doesn’t have to be so explicit with her reasons, right?

“That might be my fault,” she winces, “I told him he needed to stop making his crushes so obvious. 

“Yeah,” she notes with a nod. “Amanda is nice, but I'm sure it makes the office awkward. I told him he needed to try to move on if he could, too, but easier said I guess.”

She thinks he had a crush on Rollins? Well, he did. Maybe he still does. But there's something wistful in her tone, a vague expression of disappointment and...loss? 

Maybe she wasn’t too off about Keshia reciprocating Sonny’s crush after all. Too bad there’s nothing they can do about it. 

Yet.

Instead of coming completely clean, she offers what amounts to an olive branch. It isn’t her feeling to tell anyway. 

“I know we haven't really been that close but if there's ever something you want to talk about my door’s open.”

“Thank you,” she smiles, smart enough to pick up on the offer of support, “and I don't need details, but if the reason you recused yourself from the Grant case has anything to do with the reason you've been wearing all these bright shirts lately then I'm very happy for you.”

She looks down, eyeing the maroon shirt she stole from Rafa this morning (burgundy spice, he had corrected as if there was true difference.) 

“I, uh,” she trails off. Has she really been wearing his shirts all week?

“Don’t worry about it,” Keshia winks, “It just suits you is all.”

She really needs to remember to bring some clothes over to his place. She can’t continue arguing with him over how he needs the lilac one back and then, apparently giving him the lavender one. 

Though, really, she’s been doing it on purpose because their arguments tend to lead to a lot of kissing. Also the shirts are very soft and fancy and probably cost more than she’s spent on most of her wardrobe. 

They also smell like him. That’s the part she really likes.

* * *

She isn’t worried, per se. Noah likes him and he’s actually great with children in spite of his complete disinterest in babies. ( _ “ _ You know the real ticking time bomb scenario is a baby that just ate,” he’d defended after practically running from a newborn in the park.) Still, he wasn’t exactly her first choice for babysitter.

She’d been meaning to ask him if his mother would do it when he’d offered. 

She’d finally gotten a cadre of new detectives. Of course Dodds had acted like it was his idea, because of “the way society is changing.” Even Keshia hadn’t been able to contain her eye roll at that one. She was so glad to be getting new blood she’d kept her mouth shut. 

She was so glad to be getting new blood she’d forgotten to account for the time needed to spend time training them. It wasn’t a problem until Lucy needed some time off and the rest of her squad was just as busy with training at the same time Ben and Drew were vacationing.

Again, she’s not that worried. She was just pleasantly surprised he’d offered and didn’t spend half the day freaking out about it. 

So when she opens the door she’s half-expecting a mess of toys strewn about the floor. Instead she sees Rafa on the couch, Noah's head laying against his chest. There’s a book in Rafa’s left hand. They're both asleep. 

Of course they’d had story time. If she was a different person she’d take a picture, but she needs to get to bed. She needs both of them to get to bed or they’ll both be cranky in the morning.

She nudges Noah awake, telling him it’s time for bed. 

“Momma,” he whines, wrapping his body around hers as she carries him into his room, “we didn’t finish the story.”

“You can finish tomorrow, Sweet Boy.”

“Okay,” he sighs as she lays him down on the bed. He grabs Eddie and snuggles into his pillow. She pulls the covers up over him and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Rafa can finish tomorrow.”

Oh boy. She hasn’t talked to Rafa about that. 

“We’ll see,” she murmurs, stroking the boy’s hair. “He’s very busy.”

“Can Rafa come over all the time?” he mutters, eyes closed and breathing starting to even out. 

He loves her and she loves him and this is eventually going to be a thing, right? But she can’t make promises when she hasn’t asked him about it. 

“Maybe,” is the only promise she can make. 

She lets him fall asleep and closes the door behind her. Rafa is sitting on the couch like he’s trying to will himself awake. 

You can stay. She thinks. Please stay, she wishes silently. 

“Sorry,” he smiles as he hears the door latch. “I guess we both had a long day.”

She doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for.

“Thank you for taking care of him.”

She makes her way to the couch, and sits next to him, resisting the urge to run her fingers over his hairline. 

“I was happy to,” he answers, and she’s pretty sure he means it wholeheartedly. How did she not trust this before? This magnetism, this enchantment, this spell. She can’t begin to know how to get out of it. Maybe she has no desire to get out of it. 

“I'll see you tomorrow?” He raises an eyebrow, and it snaps her right out of the trance. 

“Tomorrow?”

“You know,” he smirks, then leans over and kisses her on the forehead, “the day after today.”

“Oh,” she tries to smile back, “I guess you’re busy.”

“More like tired,” he stretches his arms out, stifling a yawn. “Good night Liv.”

He’s toeing on his shoes. She wants him to stay and she knows if she asks him to he will, but what if he doesn’t actually want to? 

“Okay,” she manages to sound vaguely fine about him edging toward the coat rack. She imbues her tone with an airy quality she thinks must be able to convince him of how blase she is about all of it. She’s never sounded so fine in her life.

Instead, he turns, and furrows a brow at her. 

“What are you mad about?”

Wow he knows her way too well to continue with this, doesn’t he? 

“Nothing,” she shrugs one shoulder with both arms crossed. 

“You’re mad,” he tests, turning away from the coats. 

“I'm not,” she defends, “just disappointed.”

“About?”

That you can’t read my mind when I’m too chicken-shit to actually ask you. That I don’t want to admit I miss you when I wake up and you’re not there. That we should probably move in together, but that’s too far too fast. 

“I guess I've grown accustomed to our morning routine,” she picks at her cuticles instead of looking at him, “and I was hoping you had too.” 

She manages to look up at him. His face is inscrutable. 

“It's fine though,” she shrugs, blinking back tears she doesn’t know why she feels. “I’ll talk you in the morning.” 

“Liv,” he crosses the room, “I'm not going to invite myself to stay over.”

“Yeah,” she knows. She’s trying not to sniffle about it. It’s silly to be this attached to him anyway. 

“But,” he smiles, running his fingers through her hair before letting his hand cup her chin, “if you let me wear my Harvard sweatshirt I could make myself comfortable.”

She bites back the laugh, “Like you've ever worn that sweatshirt.”

She ends up wearing the sweatshirt. She means to tell him if he wants it he can take it. But she underestimated how exhausting the training was. 

Instead, she climbs into bed with a smile and lets him kiss her goodnight.

“By the way,” she murmurs, settling her ear over his chest, “Noah needs you to finish the story tomorrow.”

“He tell you that?” she can feel the smirk against her head. His arms are wrapped around her and their legs are entwined. It’s… perfect.

“Yes, actually. He wants you to come over all the time.” 

“Is that him talking or you?” 

He’s trying to play it light and breezy, like it’s a joke, but she knows him too well to fall for that one. 

She leans up, and looks him in the eyes, “Both.” 

“Okay,” he smiles. There’s something in it. Something like he can’t quite believe what’s happening or that any of this is real. Something like he’d accepted he could never have this and to get it is overwhelming. 

Then again, that’s probably her talking. 

Marry me, she thinks, but that’s getting ahead of herself. It isn’t a joke and he’d take it as one at this point.

Maybe take it a step back and figure out how to tell him she wants to move in together. 

* * *

Listening to more of Murder Most Fowl was a bad choice, she realizes. Especially when she gets to a case of theirs she honestly forgot about.

It isn’t that it isn’t great. It isn’t that she’s not amused. It’s that it all hits far too close to home. 

Especially when she gets to the part she’s been waiting for this whole time. 

“But after everything there’s a press conference,” Kara begins, “And Barba gives this statement where he's like - ‘I couldn't have done this without the tireless work of the Manhattan SVU and Olivia’s the greatest and you should talk to her about the hundreds of other cases a year we can't prosecute, or that we can’t win. The real victory today is finally finding justice. We will continue this fight. We will continue shedding light on the dark corners. So the voiceless can have a voice.'”

She hadn’t been at that one. It was his last one before the Grant case came to an ugly head. It’s a time she doesn’t like to dwell on a lot. She’s really sorry she missed it.

“I love him Kara. I really do.” Gina sighs, “I'm like besotted with him,” she laughs, “is that even a word?”

“Yeah. You’re besotted for Barba.”

Both of them giggle, and she can’t help but join in. Even though she’s crying over things she missed. 

Ben would tell her that’s worthless. He’s told her that several times now, actually. That she needs to prepare for what can happen, not dwell on what didn’t. Enjoy the fact that they finally let their feelings show. 

She’s trying to get there. 

“Oh no that's our new hashtag.”

“What do you think he’d have to say about that?” 

“Like he’d even listen.” 

He’d like this part, though. He’d like that they sing his praises, but mostly that they understand what the real goal is - truth, catharsis, justice.

“Seriously though,” Gina continues, “It doesn’t matter because he’s totally in love with Olivia. You can’t even argue with me on that.”

Gina, of wherever the heck these two girls with a podcast are from, likely has no idea how right she was. They really were blind, weren’t they?    


“You know shipping real people is weird.”   


“I know. I know, but this is different. Cause heroes deserve true love most of all.”

She doesn’t know about all that, heroes and everything, but she does appreciate the sentiment. Honestly, maybe listening to this was what she needed to do before she went making wild assumptions about Dr. Friedman. Then again, it doesn’t do to dwell on what didn’t happen, right? 

* * *

Keshia tells her personally when Judge Billings finally agrees to allow Rafa’s testimony. She’s not exactly surprised when she’s offered a hug, but she is when it actually helps.

And his testimony is beautiful. The quiver in his voice, the shake of his hands, maybe others don’t quite see it, but he’s still terrified. He’s terrified and he’s doing it anyway. For Gia. For the others. To give voice to the voiceless.

Then the most amazing thing happens - it works. 

Walter Grant is convicted by a jury of his peers for aggravated sexual assault, battery, harassment and intimidation. They try to tack on attempted murder as well, but Billings doesn’t allow that to stand because that was not what the case was about it. 

He’s later sentenced to several years in jail. He doesn’t get the max, but he’ll be in there for a good long while. 

And when he gets out, if he gets out, his fortune will be depleted paying for all the lawyers defending him in several multi-million dollar lawsuits. 

Karma is, after all, delicious. 

It’s weird that it’s freeing to know that. Maybe that was what was holding her back from taking the next step. That they needed to close the chapter on Grant before they really moved forward. That they needed to move on before they took a leap. 

He seems to feel it, too, and when he invites her to a conference this time, she doesn’t hesitate to say yes. 

* * *

It’s after watching his speech that she resolves she is finally, definitely going to ask him to move in together. What she really wants is to ask him to marry her, but baby steps.

He was beautiful up there, really, and she has some idea of how to finally show her appreciation. 

When he finally swipes the key card to the hotel room after what must be hours of her waiting for him she doesn’t even greet him, really. Just turns off the TV as he regales her with stories of all the nice people he met. She’s not exactly mad she didn’t get to meet them too, this isn’t about her, but she is a teensy bit jealous. 

She also really doesn’t care about whatever the foremost expert on the 14th Amendment has to say about regional sentencing laws.  

When he finally turns from around from the dresser, he actually notices she hasn’t quite been paying attention.

“What are you doing?” he asks, eyeing her suspiciously. She does agree her positioning probably looks strange.

“Attempting to show my appreciation,” she shrugs, plan in place and moving to sit back up, “You looked really good up there, Counselor.”

“Only looked?” he smirks, “glad to know you were listening.”

“Oh I was Bigshot. Recidivism and habitual offenders, sexual assault is a gateway to homicide, passion for service. You covered all the big tickets.”

“Hmm,” he folds his arms, “and you didn't even catch the line about it not being about the win but the fight.”

“How you plagiarized me?” she teases, “Yes I caught it.”

“I cited my source,” he smiles.

“A friend is not a proper citation, professor.”

Maybe it’s a little more biting than she intended, because his expression suddenly softens. 

“Liv,” his tone shifts. “I wasn't sure if - I mean we hadn't talked about it and I didn't know how public you wanted to be about things.”

“Things?” she shifts the sheet around her waist. “The girl sitting next to me told me you were amazing and I said you should see what he's like in bed.”

“You didn't.”

“I didn’t,” she confirms.

“So you aren't mad about the label?”

“No,” she threads her hand under the scrap of material, and tosses it at him “but I am tired of talking.”

“Liv-” he chokes, “what-” he pulls her underwear off the floor and unfolds them. 

“If you don’t hurry up I'm going to start on my own.”

It doesn’t take two seconds before the panties are back on the floor and he’s kissing her deeply. They aren’t wearing much, so undressing doesn’t take that long. 

She finally wins the battle to be on top and takes the opportunity to straddle over him, leaning over to keep kissing. Then she scoots lower, places a kiss to his sternum, then continues sliding.

“Liv what are you -”

“Showing my appreciation,” she reiterates, gripping his shaft, running a thumb along the vein. He shudders.

“You're still going to show this appreciation? Even when I know that you're -” he trails off as her thumb teases his slit.

“All ready to go?” she taunts, placing a quick kiss to the head, “That's just how much I love you.”

Then she wraps her lips around his head as she uses her hand to grip and tease his balls, only releasing him momentarily to lick the underside, teasing his head again as she draws his member down into her mouth.

“Fuck,” he groans, hand in her hair. She bobs slightly, establishing a rhythm. “Liv, shit, I need - I need to come…” he gasps, “Inside. Please.”

She releases her grip and gives two quick tugs before settling herself over him.

“Whatever you say Big Boy,” she toys slyly, pulling him inside.

“Big boy?” he laughs, gripping her waist, “thrilled to be named after a fine dining icon”

“You're certainly some kind of icon,” she keens, rolling her hips and pressing her hand against his chest. “Fuck,” she gasps, kneading her breast with her free hand, “Fuck you feel so good.”

He bucks against her, and when he smirks, instead of letting him say the comment he's going for she tightens her inner muscles and he nearly loses his grip on her waist.

“Liv!” he chokes, “I'm.. I'm gonna… “

“Then go for it.”

He thrusts in short bursts straight after and he then comes inside of her. He’s flaccid before she gets the chance to, well it doesn’t really matter. So she lets him catch his breath as she climbs off of him. 

“Liv,” he reaches out a hand to caress her waist, “You didn't.”

“It’s fine,” she smiles, smoothing over his hair. 

“It’s really not,” he counters. 

“You're allowed to climax before me.”

“But you didn’t at all.”

She's perfectly fine not getting an orgasm. She's used to that. Well, not with him, but she did kind of take matters into her own hands.

“You were overstimulated,” she teases. 

“Still,” his grip tightens on her waist. The fact that he feels this bad about it is honestly kind of endearing. 

“You're not losing your touch,” she leans forward to place a quick kiss to his lips, “I just should have insisted on finishing the blow job before we moved on to other things.”

“It’s not your fault I didn't give you an orgasm. It’s mine.”

“Oh please.”

He smiles, leans over and kisses her. Then slides down, licking her left nipple. “You're very insistent on this, aren't you?”

“I'm making oral arguments.”

She rolls her eyes, and before she can make a comment about his otherwise flawless technique his lips are wrapped around that nipple. His hand is caressing her right breast. 

“I know you have a fondness for that one, but,” she gasps as his thumb swipes over her right nipple. “Fuck.”

Then he releases her left, but not before kissing around it. Before she can think about his plans or what she wants him to do he's switched positions. His lips are sucking at her right breast as his thumb caresses her left. 

“Rafa, baby, I -” she gasps, searching for some sort of purchase.

She's on fire and incredibly aroused and veering toward frustrated. She can't come from this. Not just this, and he knows it. When he releases her, she's expecting him to kiss down her stomach and lick between her legs. 

Instead, he kisses between her breasts, licks over their swells before worshiping her neck. 

“You really like those, don’t you?” she teases, running her hands into his hair. She feels him laugh as he leans up. 

“They're exquisite,” he emphasizes by pulling her mouth to his. His hand is inching over her thigh, and her legs are opening gradually. His fingers reach between them and he finds her clit with an ease she shouldn't be surprised by anymore. 

He's very, very good at this. 

She moans something against him as he continues, adjusting slightly so his fingers enter her as his thumb stimulates her clit. 

“Fuck!” she shouts as he finds just the right spot. She's so stimulated at this point just the flick against her g-spot has her coming. 

She's barely recovered when he removes his fingers and offers them to her. There's something incredibly erotic about staring into his eyes as she cleans off the mess he caused. The incredibly satisfying mess he caused. 

“You didn’t want to clean up after yourself?” she mutters after releasing his pointer finger. 

He raises an eyebrow. “Who said I was done?”

Fuck. Yes.

He leans back over her and licks down her stomach. Swirling at her belly button before taking his sweet fucking time between her legs. He licks at her hood, sucks at her labia, alternates between using his fingers and his lips and his tongue. 

He finally digs his fingers into her center as he wraps his lips around her apex. She'd tell him it's the combination of stimulation that got her off but they both know it's really the look of complete determination and awe in his eyes as he does it. 

He has nothing to prove to her but sometimes she lets him do it anyway. Especially when the results are so … satisfying. 

When he's done licking he presses a kiss to her inner thigh that does absolutely nothing to curb her desire. So much so that as he's climbing back up her body too slowly, she drags him up to pull his mouth back against hers.

She runs her tongue along the seam of his lips and he opens his mouth. He tastes like what he's been doing and she cannot get enough of it. In fact, she has half a mind to return the favor entirely. But he'd hear nothing of that. 

So determined, this man. So infuriatingly delicious, her partner. 

“Glad I could come back from that disaster,” he laughs, pulling her to lay across his chest. She is far from done with him and he is far from satisfied. 

So she slides her hand down between them, before he catches her wrist.

“I don't deserve that,” he winces. 

“Okay counselor,” she swings a leg over his waist, “One, you absolutely do. Two, I’m not keeping some tally of orgasms. Three, if you can use that giant dick of yours to give me another I'll call it even.”

He raises an eyebrow as she bends forward, pulling him inside. 

“Mm,” she moans, placing both hands across his chest for leverage. He takes a hand and adjusts her hip slightly. 

“Lean back.”

“Why?”

“Trust me.”

As she does it he thrusts up, allowing him deeper inside. 

She can barely contain how good this feels, so she decides not to. Instead using her inner muscles to pull him even deeper as she tells him how wonderful he is at wielding his weapon. 

Who was the person worrying about whether they'd be good at this? Jesus fuck no wonder she’s been late to work for most of the month. 

And he's hers. He's all hers and she's never ever letting him get so far away again. 

She screams unmentionable things and he groans in other languages. And finally, blissfully, they come together. 

“I can't believe you actually threw your panties at me,” he laughs as they finally catch their breath.

“I was showing my appreciation for all of your fine attributes,” she goads, running her fingers through his chest hair.

“Big boy your best friend now?”

“Still you,” she admits. 

Time to finally ask it, right? Take the next step and bend toward making this officially. “And as my best friend, what would you say if I told you I started dating this really great guy and I already want to move in with him?”

“As your best friend,” he sighs, rubbing his hands over her back, “I'd say only you know what you want.” It isn’t what she’s hoping for but she understands. “But as what I hope is this great guy you're seeing I'd say I've been holding off bringing it up.”

Of course he’s not going to actually answer the question. She pushes up to look into his eyes.

“Is that a no?” she searches.

“Is it a question?”

You can’t answer a question that isn’t actually asked, can you? 

“I'd really like to move in together so I don’t have to wear your shirts to work.”

“I'd like to have some of them back, that's for sure.”

“Stop me if I’m moving too fast.”

She knows the answer to the question she didn’t really ask. But she still needs to be sure, to hear it out loud.

“Would you be okay with my place?” he asks, “We can convert the guest bed to be Noah’s room.” 

She nods the affirmative before settling back down against him.    


“It’s not already Noah’s room?” she asks, hand over his stomach.    


“Fair point,” he sighs, fingers rubbing against her shoulder as he sniffs her hair. “I know your place has memories and I’m willing to be persuaded, but I trust the security team at mine. There’s also a great art program at the nearest elementary and it’s close to the park and I have a lot of space and -”   


"Rafa,” she laughs, “I was going to ask if it was okay to move in to yours.”

“And you let me babble because?”   


“I like your arguments.”   


“You like hearing me talk.”   


“That too. Sometimes.”   


“Good, because I already had the spare key made and I really didn’t want to give it to Ben.”

She doesn’t really want him to give it to Ben, either.   


“You were that confident?”   


“No. But I had Noah on my side.”

Stacking the case against her should she be so bold as to argue. She should be mad, but she likes a man who goes after what he wants. 

“Cheating.”   


“Campaigning.”   


“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

She doesn’t really know what she was waiting for anymore. She loves a man who goes after what he wants. At least, she loves this man. Very, very much. 

* * *

“I think Sonny’s dating someone,” Amanda whispers behind her as they enter what is now Noah’s room. “Holy Shit. This was the guest room?”

She really should not be carrying the box she is holding, and she chooses not to acknowledge how big the room is. She’s only allowed herself to feel better about it by giving him a play area. 

“You really shouldn’t be helping, Rollins. Aren’t you still on bed rest?”   


“I’ve been cooped up in the house for weeks, Liv. Weeks! And Dr. Al is lording everything over me.”

She’s also not going to comment on the fact that they now have a child together and she’s still calling him Dr. Al. 

“Then go sit on the couch with the kids,” she tries to grab the cardboard from her detective’s hands, “I don’t want you lugging boxes.”    


“ADA Charles is out there,” she whispers conspiratorially.   


“And what’s wrong with ADA Charles?”   


“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. She’s perfect.” She sighs, putting the box down on the bed, before flopping dramatically next to it. “And I’m gonna look like a tub of cream cheese around her.”   


“Amanda -” she starts.

“I know I’m being ridiculous,” Rollins throws up a hand, “And if she found out I felt this way she’d probably buy me a spa day or something. I hate her.” 

Keshia had already tried to buy her a spa day gift certificate as a baby shower gift. She was successfully able to convince her to go with a card to her favorite restaurant. This was later cited as being “annoyingly perfect.”

Before she can start to give her a pep talk, she hears a voice from the door.

“Who do we hate?” Ben asks, dropping a box in the corner. 

“Rollins is just being dramatic,” she notes, deciding to filter through the box on the bed, “Dr. Friedman here can explain to you all the reasons it’s a bad idea for you to be lifting boxes just weeks after giving birth.”

“I’m a psychiatrist, not an obstetrician,” he rolls his eyes, “but didn’t you have a C-section?”   


“And?” Rollins folds her arms over her chest. 

“Overextending yourself could cause your stitches to pop,” he leans against the door frame. Rollins just frowns. “Who is it that we hate?”   


“It doesn’t matter,” she huffs, “but I think Sonny’s dating someone.”   


“And you’re angry about that because?”   


It’s hard to tell if Amanda knows what he’s doing or she just doesn’t care. She’s just happy not to have to do it herself. Ben is proving very useful.    


“He should be dating the Lady Charles in there and she’s not interested.”   


“How do you know,” he asks, “Has anyone spoken to her about how she feels?”

A valid point if ever there was one, she thinks, moving a few books to some shelves.    


“Sonny said she wasn’t interested,” Amanda counters.   


“I mean, do what you want, but Rafael told me the same thing about Olivia and look where we are now.”   


“That’s different.”   


“Is it?”   


“Yeah cause Liv and Barba were... “ she trails off, “Hmm.”   


She doesn’t even excuse herself as she leaves the room. Probably to finally get to the bottom of however Keshia feels. She’s surprised it’s taken her this long to figure it out. 

“You really think she’s interested?” she asks him as he hands her the box.    


“I’m pretty sure they started dating a few weeks after Grant’s sentencing hearing, but I’m not a detective.”

No, but some of his skills can be put to good use.   


“I think so too,” she smiles. She’s been waiting to receive a disclosure slip for about a month, but she’s decided not to interfere in people’s personal lives anymore. “You don’t think we’re moving in together too early?”   


Ben laughs. “Only you two would think it’s too early.”   


“He’s not having a panic attack about the closet, is he?”

“Surprisingly no,” he smirks, picking a few clothes from the box and moving them to the dresser. “I sent him to pick up food.”   


“Alone?”   


“Relax. I ordered pizza for everyone and didn’t want Yolanda trying to carry all of it up.”   


“You bought everyone pizza for helping us move in?”   


“Let’s just say I lost a bet,” he looks askance. For the first time in their acquaintance he seems… embarrassed. “I thought Rafael would give up and hire movers. It seems I underestimated his stubbornness.”

Maybe Dr. Perfect isn’t so perfect after all. She’s never been more happy to be proven wrong. Well, she’s almost never been more happy to be proven wrong

* * *

Time kind of gets away from her after the move. They win another huge case against another big predator. Rafa and Ben get bigger offices for the foundation.

She finally gets one of the slips from Carisi the day Keshia wins a landmark case against Hudson University, proving the institution was criminally negligent in its handling of assault claims.

She smiles, thanks him for letting her know, and never mentions it again. Even though she is quite happy for both of them. 

While its not exactly encouraging to have so much work, even still, it is to have the support. Even if it came with a lot of sacrifice. A lot of very personal sacrifice. 

At least, the work is her excuse for not moving to the next step. For not at least talking to her very thorough, very attentive, was her feminist icon before everyone else got on the train, boyfriend about their next step. 

It's another night of spaghetti and a quick bedtime story before he beats her to it.

She isn't even really in bed before he asks. She's just pulled on the sweatshirt he never actually wore and settling under the covers when he starts off. 

“I know it hasn’t been that long since you moved in,” he tests, “and you’re probably not really into the whole making promises for the rest of your life thing, but -”   


“Are you proposing?” she can't help the laugh. This is the most ridiculous way to bring this up.

He can't help that he's nervous, especially after she laughed at him, but he really should be a bit more confident than the expression he's giving her.    


“If you want me to be proposing,” he leads.    


“Rafa, I can’t answer a question you didn’t ask.”

“And I don’t ask questions I don’t know the answer to.”   


“You really don’t know the answer to this one?”   


“I mean, I’m not really asking, because if you don’t want to it’s presumptuous and buying you a ring is manipulative and I don’t want you to feel obligated and -”

She leans over and kisses him. It's the only way she knows will absolutely shut him up.    


“You don’t have a whole speech prepared?” she teases, running a hand through his hair.    


“Okay,” he sighs. He's dejected. “I'll drop it.”

He's not exactly mad. Disappointed, more like.    


“Rafa,” she moves her hand to clasp his before he can turn away, “if man were to ask me to marry him after only a few months of living together then I’d probably break up with him.” 

He doesn't take it well, and it probably wasn't the best way to answer the question. She just hadn't realized he was genuinely that unsure.    


He wends from her grasp and turns away, lying down with his back to her. 

“I said I’d drop it, Liv.”

She never wanted him to drop it. 

So she lies behind him, placing her chin against his shoulder. 

“But if you had asked me to marry you the night of our first date I would have said yes.”

She can feel the tension release from him.    


“Really?” he asks.    


“Really.” she smiles, moving back to kiss his shoulder. “I'd been meaning to ask myself. I just didn’t know if you’d be into it.”

That gets him to turn around.

“Who wouldn't be into marrying you?” he grins. At least he's back, but that's really not the issue.    


“I know you think I’m a catch,” she can't help matching his expression, “But I didn’t know how you felt about marriage in general.”   


“I mean,” he nods, “I’m not wild about the religious implications of man owning woman but as far as financial burdens go the tax credits are considerable.”

Here she was thinking they were having a moment.    


“Plus,” he places a quick kiss to her lips, “My wife Olivia sounds quite lovely.”

“Yeah?”   


“Yeah.” 

She's not going to cry. He'd probably misinterpret that, too. Instead she hugs him close and desperately tries to keep it in. He cradles her head against his heart. 

“So when do you want to go to Tiffany’s?” he runs a hand through her hair. 

She pulls back.    


“For breakfast?”   


He laughs, “To pick out your ring, Lula Mae.” 

She's really not all that concerned about it, but he doesn't need to be making such a fuss. 

“I trust you, but please don’t go to Tiffany’s.”   


“Cartier?”   


“That’s worse.”

“Bulgari?”

She shakes her head, lying back down.    


“Just order it online from one of those wholesalers.”

She entwines their fingers.    


“You wound me.”   


“I don’t want you spending a ridiculous amount that’s all.”

“Define ridiculous.”

He's definitely going to be making a fuss.    


* * *

She was kind of hoping to have the hardware by now. It doesn't actually matter, except he refuses to acknowledge the engagement until he gets the jewelry.

She had told herself it was his insistence on getting things absolutely correct that was causing the delay, but at this point she's a little worried he's changed his mind. 

She doesn't want to press it, but if he's having doubts about it they can talk. Instead, he tells her how great his staff is at the foundation and all the plans he’s making for the next year. Talks, speeches, some opportunity that sounds suspiciously like lobbying but she’s okay with that if it means improved policies, nothing about a wedding. 

She’s going to force him to talk about it tomorrow, she thinks. You shouldn’t go to bed angry, but she’s exhausted and emotionally drained and she can be a better listener with some sleep. She doesn’t want to snap and ruin everything. 

She flicks off the bedside lamp light and turns, back to him. 

He’s gabbing away about whatever initiative Drew invested in that means they can fund all kinds of new projects. He barely even notices she isn’t interested. She would be, normally, she just feels left out if she’s being honest. 

“So do you want to talk about what it is you’re pissed at me for?” he tacks on to the end of the sentence. 

They’ve known each other for too long to get away with not talking about it. So she sits up, turns the light back on. 

“If you don’t want to get married, that’s fine,” she tries at least to make it seem fine. She’s disappointed and feels like she’s losing some promise he hadn’t quite made, but she doesn’t need the ceremony if he doesn’t want it. 

“What makes you think I don’t?” 

She hates when he puts that mask on, especially when they’re dealing with something so personal and emotional, but self-preservation is evolutionary. It’s what he defaults to when he feels he’s being attacked.

“You keep talking about your work, and I’m very happy for you, but I’m nowhere in your plans.”   


“I thought you were busy?” 

She is. Quite busy. Too busy, but they used to drop by each other’s offices all the time. 

“I am,” she sighs, “I just thought your plans might include a wedding,” she shrugs. 

And suddenly the mask is gone. He winces as he looks to the ceiling. 

“I had plans to surprise you with a dinner at home,” he sniffs, “But it seems I’m really bad at being romantic.”   


He’s really not, but before she can stop him to tell him this he’s digging into his bedside drawer. The one place she never tries to find anything because it’s full of legal pads and aftershave. 

“If you still want it,” he fingers the black velvet box, “It’s very reasonably priced. Even though Yvette was trying to push me toward something you’d kill me for.”

He does know her quite well. That she wouldn’t want a big public proposal, that she doesn’t need a giant ring.    


“Yvette sounds interesting,” she answers, taking the box from his hands.    


“She thought she could get me to spend much more than I wanted to.”   


Knowing him he did hours of research with cuts and color and when he went in there he knew exactly which one was his. Hers, she mentally corrects. 

“I’ll think about it,” she teases, opening the lid. She wants it. She’s wanted the ring and the marriage since that night. But it isn’t as important as being here with him, of having him to hold, to cherish. 

“I’m sensing there’s more you wanted to say, though?”

She refuses to look at it until he’s done. She knows it’s perfect anyway.    


“If you have second thoughts,” he turns up a corner of his mouth, “you’ll tell me?”   


She shakes her head. 

“I’m not going to.”   


“I know you don’t think so, but I need us to be honest with each other. To communicate completely, so if you fall out of love with me you’ll tell me?”

She meant it when she said she wanted to marry him after the first date.

“Honey,” she falters, catching the earnestness in his eyes, rubbing his cheek. “I promise I’ll be completely honest with you.”   


“Okay,” he smiles, searching her eyes for something she doesn’t know. “So if I ask about adopting Noah you’ll tell me if it’s stupid?”   


“Rafa,” she breathes, trying to find the right words.

“You told me you’d be completely honest,” he admonishes. 

She can feel her heart colliding against her ribcage. His fingers are trembling against her waist. His eyes are barely containing the tears and hers are not at all. She doesn’t have the words. 

So she reaches up, grabs him by the back of the neck, and kisses him deeply. 

The ring is still between them, so she doesn’t press it too far. 

“As enjoyable as this is,” he smiles against her, “it isn’t an answer.”   


“Did you actually ask the question?” she goads, pulling his lips against hers again. 

“Liv,” he breaks away, pressing his forehead to hers, “could I adopt Noah?”   


“Yes,” she laughs, “and you can marry me too.”

It’s his turn to kiss her that time

He keeps kissing and kissing until he reaches for the box again. When she looks down and finds a nicely sized solitaire engagement ring she can’t help the smile. Of course his research was unfailing. 

He finally takes it out and puts it on her finger, kissing her lightly before clasping her hand in his. 

“It’s perfect,” she grins, looking down at it. 

“And I didn’t even go to Tiffany’s.”   


“Look at you, following directions.”   


“I worked within my given parameters.”    


“I love you.”   


“I love you too.”

Communication does have its benefits, doesn’t it?

* * *

No one seems surprised by the ring. Of course Keshia gives her a big bug and Ben’s comment is just “finally.” Carisi is the one who wins the betting pool, but he gives all the money to RAINN. He says it’s to make it above board so it’s not considering gambling, but he thinks it’s to get Amanda off his back about winning.

She’s finally got everyone trained and gets some time to catch up on her favorite dumb podcast.

“I have bad news Gina.”   


“Uh oh. Is wool in fashion again?”

“Nothing that horrifying,” Kara snarks, “Your boyfriend is getting married.”   


Gina gasps, “Boo Bear Barbie?” 

He would absolutely hate that nickname and it makes her laugh every time Gina and Kara joke about it.

“Yep,” Kara leads, “Here’s a picture of his fiancee.”

There’s rustling that sounds like paper.

There had apparently been an article calling them a superhero crime fighting team of some sort. Rafa had called it terrible journalism because they hadn’t actually talked to anyone who knew them. She’d considered getting it framed as a wedding present.

She assumes that’s what they’re looking at. 

“Well, that’s fine,” Gina sounds disappointed, but then she gasps, “he’s marrying Olivia? How is that bad news Kara!”

Kara giggles.    


“That was so mean! You had me thinking he was marrying someone dumb!”

“Who would that be?”   


“Not Olivia!” she yells as if that’s quite obvious to everyone, “Oh I’m so happy.”   


“You’re just happy you were right.”

“That too.”

She guesses she’s glad to know she’s not someone dumb. 

* * *

Wedding planning is a whirlwind even though they decide to have a civil ceremony at the courthouse. Keshia and Trevor help get Noah’s adoption paperwork expedited and he insists on being the “ring bear,” but he gives up that dream when he finds out he can’t actually dress up as Winnie the Pooh.

He doesn’t quite understand the big deal or why Abuela Lucia cries. He’s been calling Rafa Papa for months by that point. Lucia is so happy to have a grandchild she barely even yells about the ceremony being informal. 

The one who does yell is Ben. Well, he actually gives them a giant lecture about relaxation and self-care and personal health when he finds out they don’t plan to take a honeymoon. She lets him think she only agrees to get him to shut up, but everyone had already agreed to split watching Noah for two weeks.

They don’t go anywhere fancy. They just take a few weeks off to relax at home. Well, they have a lot of fun at home. 

In the shower, on the big roomy couch, maybe a few times in the kitchen and several times in the gigantic, ostentatiously decorated with rose petals bed. 

It feels boring to know her favorite is just him on top of her. But it's more than that. It's feeling his chest against hers. Its digging her nails into his back while he finds the right places on her neck to drive her crazy. It's wrapping her legs around his waist as he fills her up completely. It's the feeling of his heart beating against hers grounding her to reality as she reaches oblivion. 

It's connecting to him on every possible level and holding it, him, to her heart. 

But sometimes she likes being on top and sometimes she can't help how much she wants to fuck him against the bathroom door. So she does it and she never regrets it. Or the times he drives her to distraction and she's late for work. 

Occasionally he drills into her from behind and it fulfills something primal and basal within her. Her mate. Her partner. Her husband. It feels amazing and that's always when she makes the most noise. Because he can still make her lose consciousness with an ease she can't describe. 

He always makes her feel incredible, and he's told her the same, but when he lies over her and enters slowly, while fingering her clit at a different pace, well, that's when she feels the most connected to him. Sometimes she's so overwhelmed by all of it she barely makes any noise. Sometimes the moans die in her throat and tears form at her eyes.

She’s never described sex as being beautiful before, and it’s still largely a mess of hormones that make you feel nice, but there's something about this position. This position with him more specifically, that touches her deeply. 

* * *

Keshia tries to get Rafa to run for DA when she finds out her friend will be appointed to a state review board. Cleveland had told her it was only supposed to be an interim position anyway. She doesn’t entirely want him to run, but she thinks that was his goal for a while, and really her issue is safety more than anything.

Really her issue is that she’d have to retire. 

But she really should at this point. The squad is in great shape. One of the newbies just passed the sergeant’s exam. Fin can pretty much run it without her. 

Honestly, she kind of wants to retire, and when Dr. Friedman offers her a position at the foundation the only thing holding her back is that she doesn’t know how Rafa feels. 

But she somehow manages, even after all this time, to underestimate him. 

He doesn’t want to run for DA, he decides. He wants to stay with the foundation and continue the work he’s built. But, he offers, she can still join them if she wants. 

It’s only later that she finds out he was actually using the time to convince Keshia to run. She should be worried about Carisi, but he easily gets a job with the Civilian Complaint Review Board. 

Amanda’s pissed about it. Amanda’s pissed about everything. She doesn’t want Fin to be her boss. She doesn’t want one of the youngsters to be her sergeant. She doesn’t want Carisi to leave. Keshia is too good to lose. Liv isn’t allowed to retire. 

She manages, though. She even manages to hug her goodbye on her last day.

It’s a lot of change for a relatively short period of time. For most of her career she had kind of planned to die at her desk or get put on medical leave. 

But they’re in a good place, and she isn’t leaving the work. She could never leave the work entirely.

* * *

It’s only later that he gets an offer she will not allow him to refuse.

It actually comes via Ben.

“The Murder Most Fowl girls would like you to be on their show,” he notes in the morning meeting. 

She doesn’t know why they have a morning meeting when they’re in and out of each other’s offices all the time. 

“I'm,” he darts his eyes between them, “not sure what that is.”

“They’re the podcast that made up Besotted For Barba,” she offers, pretending to be very interested in the file in front of her so she doesn’t burst out laughing. 

“Please don’t make me go,” he whines.

Ben shrugs, “they really aren't that bad once you get past the giggling.”

“Giggling?” she can hear him swallow.

“They actually did a nice job with the Adam Cain story,” Ben continues.

“They went over that, but the show is called Murder Most Fowl?”

“It’s not just about murder. They cover true crime as well.”

“I'll think about it. I can't completely hate a Hamlet reference.”

She finally lets herself laugh at that one. Of course it’s a Shakespeare reference that would convince him. He just glares at her. 

“Oh, it's not a quote, its fowl. With a w.”

“Like a bird?” Ben nods in the affirmative, “Do I want to know?”

“Probably not. It has to do with the Owl Theory.”

Barba mouths the words ‘owl theory’ while Ben is trying to explain the rest of the show’s premise, and that it would be great publicity for the foundation. She shakes her head and gestures to move on.  

He agrees the next week.

* * *

Gina and Kara are actually located in Chicago, but they were already coming to New York for a convention, so they offer for him to come to a studio. She’s invited, but she doesn’t attend. She has several victims’ appointments the day they agree to, and he’d enjoy it too much.

She does download it the day it gets posted, though. 

“After I resigned, and all of the Grant mess kept getting worse, my friend told me about this podcast and -”

“Oh God,” Gina interrupts, “you didn't listen to us thirst over you did you?”

She doesn’t know what thirst means, but she thinks she gets the picture from context. 

“Please lie to us and say you still like us,” Kara adds. 

He just laughs, “Liv told me I couldn’t listen to those parts or it would go to my… ego.”

She had done nothing of the kind. She only made him promise that if he was going to be listening he couldn’t be an ass about how much they love him. She’s okay with a little bit of a lie, though. 

“Liv!” Gina practically shrieks, “You call her Liv! I'm dying.”

She almost feels bad for Kara and Rafa at this point, but he just takes the opportunity to be a sap. 

“Honestly she's the true hero in all of this. I mean there are countless warriors in a very complicated and dangerous story but Liv has been there since the beginning.”

She still kind of loves it when he’s a sap, though, even though she’s still not a hero. The real heroes are the men and women who survive the indignities, who manage to pursue justice in spite of all of it.

“Oh my God your face when you talk about her!”

“Forgive her,” Kara interjects, “She has no filter.”

“It’s fine,” he laughs, “I've always been pretty obvious and oblivious when it came to Liv.” 

“So you're saying you've been in love with her since the beginning?”

They definitely weren’t in love with each other from the beginning. Maybe attracted to each other, maybe intrigued, but love came over time. 

He pauses, considering the diplomatic way to answer that

“I don’t know when that happened, precisely, but she's always been a good influence.” 

She can tell he’s in a good mood because he does not once bring up the belt. 

“Can you let her know we’re really sorry about Besotted for Barba?” Kara adds, “Actually we’d like to let both of you know we’re really sorry for that.”

“You can’t control what the internet does, right?” she can hear the smile in his voice, “As for Liv - I think she enjoys that a little too much.”

Maybe she’s finally ready to admit she was a little besotted before it became a hashtag. She’s never admitting that to him. He kind of knows anyway. 

* * *

“You gonna throw your panties again?”  he smirks one night when they’re on the couch.

“No,” she laughs, straddling over him, “but I might find some uses for that belt.”   


“As long as you don’t throw that, too,” he mumbles into her neck as he slides his hands over her back. 

“You know,” she pulls his head back so she can look him in the eyes, “When Harris introduced you with your big brass ego I don’t think he had any idea what he was talking about.”   


He quirks an eyebrow, “You know he meant I was willing to do ridiculous things to win.”   


“Yeah,” She smiles, “But that’s never why you won. That’s just what you wanted people like him to see.”   


“A clown.”   


“Maybe,” she smiles, running her thumb over his cheek, “but you won because you cared. In the beginning you said it was about justice, but I think you cared about the victims much more than you ever let on.”   


“Maybe,” he grins, “Maybe a certain police officer helped me see caring wasn’t a problem.” 

She’d argue he isn’t seeing her point, that she never actually changed him that much. But he gets it. 

It is about justice for him. The Right thing to do, the way things could be, if we let them. If we work our hardest to achieve them we might get close to the way things should be. She’s not in the mood to squabble about semantics tonight. 

So she smiles, runs her hand to settle over his jaw, and leans in to kiss him. 

“Momma,” she hears behind her.

She resists the urge to groan. Noah was supposed to be working on homework in his room while they had adult time. Instead, she sighs, kisses her husband lightly, and climbs off of him. 

Noah is standing by the coffee table with a workbook in his hands, looking expectantly between them. 

“Yes, sweet boy,” she asks, as Rafa stifles laughter at the way she pulls down her shirt.

“I’m all done with my homework,” he smiles, holding out the book as if it’s proof. “And I drew a picture for Papa. Can we watch movies now?”   


He’s going to fall asleep during the middle of Coco again. Maybe they’ll actually get past the talent show this time, but she doesn’t even have to look at Rafa to know his answer. 

“Sure, mijo,” he says, gesturing for Noah to sit between them. “What did you draw a picture of?”   


“It’s our family,” he notes as he climbs up to the couch. 

The picture has several stick figures around a playground. The figure she suspects is Noah is holding a leash. She’s not asking him about it. They’re not home enough to take care of a dog and she doesn’t want to disappoint him again.

Okay, maybe they can figure something out, talk him into a cat instead. Or some sort of fish. Dogs are a lot of work. 

For now she will find some place to put it on the fridge and then join them to watch the same movie for the 15th time. 

When she thought about the things she wanted years ago she wanted a family. She wanted a baby and a husband and a career where she made a difference. She wanted a place to belong and to be loved. 

She never dreamed this would be it. She never dreamed she’d actually get everything she wanted, but she did. Just a bit out of order. She never thought a place to belong would be getting interrupted to watch Pixar movies. 

She’s never been more happy to be wrong. Family’s what you make it, and she has the best one. Maybe she’s biased. She doesn’t care.

She still doesn’t think there’s a difference between lavender and lilac. 

**Author's Note:**

> So this is likely horrible but I couldn't really settle on the right way to do it. Apologies.


End file.
